Vignettes in the World of Twelve
by Sniggyfrumps
Summary: Wakfu drabbles/oneshots about everything from TristEva, friendship humour, Shushu angst to musings about villains and princesses and Yugo's sweet, sweet hat. Various genres/pairings. Requests are welcome.
1. Roleplay

**A/N**: OH HEY I am hopelessly in love with the French cartoon Wakfu and most things associated with it. The only logical conclusion is of course to FANFIC THE EVER-LOVING DRAGOTURKEY DUNG OUT OF IT. Expect some amounts of **fanon**, **rampant unmarked spoilers**, and me being a **stupid fangirl**. I apologize in advance.

I have seven or so ideas floating around but please don't be shy to **suggest prompts/ideas**. I aim to please!

Anyway, dem fics:

**Title**: Roleplay

**Characters**: Eva, Tristepin, Ruel, Amalia, Yugo.

**Pairing**: TristEva

**Notes**: Picking on TristEva's special brand of flirting in the land of make-believe.

* * *

Evangelyne is very, very responsible and very, very connected with reality. It's a skill-set quite detrimental to her job since Reality at times seems pretty intent on sending extreme physical danger in her general direction.

And, sadly, Amalia seems to, at times, be anything _but_ responsible. The Princess might be able to summon vines and squeeze the stupid out of anything that looks at her funny but frankly, her attitude and decision-making proficiency leaves vast amounts of patience to be desired of her warden.

Even though she's lately found herself on the wrong side of the rescuer/rescuee business more than she finds suitable for a bodyguard of her standing (honestly, it's getting tiresome and not a little embarrassing), Evangelyne has little doubts about her ability to look after herself and others. In their little dysfunctional crew of adventurers her role of sisterly guardian and sole voice of reason extends far beyond her royally appointed role.

Cra knows the others need it, something she doesn't hesitate to inform them - at times rather angrily; often after they've made fun of her poor streak as the Token Distressed Damsel of the group.

Occasional flings with irony aside, Evangelyne maintains her image as practical, sensible and with little patience for prolonged periods of faffing about. She is all these things, but something she isn't is _imaginative_.

Oh, she is certainly adept at drawing and spinning the occasional tune on the magical bowstrings of her weapon - much to Amalia's delight. But it all serves some clearly defined goal; she rarely does art for the sake of Art. She isn't much of a day dreamer. It isn't in her job description to wax poetically every other minute about supper or new trousers or whatever hypothetically catches her fancy. And she certainly hasn't put much thought into her future aside from it involving Amalia being 'not dead' but maybe less demanding (so maybe she _is_ a dreamer, after all).

Evangelyne is creative, yet with a pragmatic twist that ensures she's still alert and aware of the Real World Dangers.

The Iop, Tristepin, it seems, is permanently stuck in some deranged little fantasy world that, if she _squints_, is loosely connected with the World of Twelve, _barely_. She scoffs at this, her entire upbringing and training having taught her the value of being ever aware of your surroundings, your _real_ surroundings. Death by day dreaming is hardly a honourable death, even by Iop standards, she thinks, and finds herself pondering if he was dropped on a rock as a child and if he subsequently decided to duel it to regain his Honour.

She knows from his occasional flights of fancy and boisterous bursts into ballads that there are Princesses and Knights and monsters and bacon - mostly made from the slain monsters - present in this imaginary world... but not much else.

Evangelyne has always been confident in the assumption that she has no place in there, she being neither a Princess nor a Knight and being wildly opposed at the thought of being made into bacon.

That's why it's so startling to not only find herself engulfed in his would-be wonderland of Daring Rescues and Dungeon Crawls and Wanton Capitalization but actually not... being... _totally_ opposed to be on the wrong side of the rescue.

Because it's nice to – once in a while – indulge Pinpin, now _her_ Pinpin (Cra help her). She gladly lets him strike a pose and sweep her up in his strong arms and hoist her into his foolish fairy tale lala-land, eyes glinting at her like she's the most precious and perilous adventure he'll ever encounter. Evangelyne blushes at this like a Girl and stops being the Bodyguard, stops surveying her surroundings for a moment and tries her hand at being a genuine, giggling, gallivanting Girl.

And it's... nice. She's becoming quite partial to this - _Cra strike her down_ but Evangelyne _likes_ being his Damsel. He looks suave and swings Rubilax around impressively, ignoring the sword's rude complaints. She says "My hero!" _without_ wanting to deck herself in the face and looks kissable. It is in these moments they can pretend she's not a deadpan, logical, stick-in-the-mud and he's not a _complete,_ unhinged moron—

—right up until the point where Ruel coughs conspicuously, Yugo makes disagreeing noises because Amalia is shoving him away to this super interesting flower or whatever that he simply _must pay lots of attention to right this instant _- and thus the lovers disconnect awkwardly, Evangelyne remembering that there's a time to pretend and then there's a time to be heartily embarrassed.


	2. Stuck In The Middle With Iop

**Title**: Stuck in the Middle with Iop

**Characters**: Evangelyne, Tristepin, Rubilax, Yugo, Ruel, Amalia.

**Notes**: UGH SHODDY TITLE PUN. Takes place early in the timeline: back when Tristepin's shenanigans made Eva facepalm instead of swoon. Well, she still facepalms but, uh, these days there's _also_ swooning.

* * *

"All in all we do make a pretty good team, don't you think Evangelyne?"

"…"

"Well, maybe _not right now_."

"…"

"But it went pretty well just a few minutes ago!"

As Tristepin continues to blather on optimistically and Eva and Rubilax continue to ignore him to the best of their abilities (which is, annoyingly, with well practiced ease) the others continue to wrestle with the monster du jour underneath them.

Under normal circumstances Eva wouldn't be this rudely dismissive of anybody, despite how inanely _Iop-ish_ they are. But these aren't normal circumstances, because under normal circumstances Evangelyne would never choose to hang passively and stickily in a gigantic spidercreature's web watching the Princess she's supposed to protect doing her job for her. All the while this Ogrest-cursed Iop stretches his incredibly finite skills at small-talk to the point where she wonders if he's got some bizarre fetish - because he certainly seems keen on inserting both feet solidly into his mouth.

Ruel's shovel whizzes through the air, severing a monstrous leg and releasing a torrent of green slime - Amalia shrieks that he better not get any of that on her skirt or it's the royal dungeons for him, and Evangelyne feels the mother of all headaches coming on.

The Iop's eyes widen: "They're hogging all the fun!" he whines and starts biting at the stringy web. It proves to be hilariously futile.

Eva desperately wishes she could break free of this sinewy trap - if nothing else, then to facepalm herself into oblivion.

Rubilax rolls his eye. "Some Knight you are. Left hanging like a flightless Tofu."

Tristepin wiggles desperately, trying to break free and get to Rubilax who sneers at him (quite difficult to do with only _one_ eye at his disposal, but the Shushu has it down to an a_rt_) just out of reach. A few more pointless struggles later and the Iop is rewarded with now hanging upside down; the blood that's subsequently flooding his brain doing nothing to improve the quality of the conversation.

Underneath, Ruel is hurled aside and his shovel hurtles off-kilter and nearly decapitates a loudly complaining Amalia by accident. Evangelyne twitches with pent-up Bodyguard instincts.

"A minor setback! We should still team up more often!" Tristepin exclaims and the Cra wonders if somehow his mouth and brain works separately of each other.

"Oh _of course,_ and while we get the _hang of it_ the others will be _just fine_, I'm _sure_," Eva scolds while watching Yugo teleport close to the giant spider thing and kick it on the shin, doing about as much damage as a gently falling autumn leaf.

Tristepin's face scrunches up. Either the blood pressure is finally getting to him or he's trying to think.

"Ah! Eva, you made a funny! Um, punny! And you too, Rubi!" He grins enthusiastically at his own deductive skills.

Rubilax and Eva groan in despair.


	3. Royal Pain In The Wallet

**Title:** Royal Pain In The Wallet

**Characters:** Ruel, Amalia, Evangelyne.

**Notes:** Inspired by/ripping off that one Mini Wakfu episode "Money Has No Smell". Amalia bitches. Ruel grouches. Bonding ensues?

* * *

"Rueeeeellll," she calls and stretches out the last syllable in the fashion they've all taken to when they're hollering at him for something or other. Which happens with aggravating routine. Urgh.

"You would be a lot more likeable if you weren't so shrill, Amalia," he scoffs and makes a show of sticking a finger in his poor abused ear and twisting.

The Sadida Princess pouts angrily in response and tugs him violently (for her age she is surprisingly strong - must be all that disgustingly vegan weed soup) towards a — he shudders — hideously expensive-looking bric-a-brac boutique.

"Buy me something?" she demands questioningly; or questions demandingly — a mix of the two, for sure. She manages a gentle tone but still looks at him expectantly.

"Uh, _no_."

This is not the desired response and she visibly bristles.

"You made us sleep outside on the bare ground for days," Amalia says thornily. "This will make up for that," the Princess concludes like it's the most logical thing in the world and Ruel, absolutely horrified at this blasé display of wanton forced generousness just grips his shovel like it's the only thing in this crazy, crazy capitalist world that makes sense. He's got a half a mind to tell her that if she wants to be sponsored with pretty gifts she should rather go flutter her flowers at one of the local farm boys who are more likely to be entranced by her charm, sparse that it is.

Unfortunately, Evangelyne is looking on and she's not liable to take remarks about her sisterly charge being a conniving gold-digger lying down and he's got many treasure chests left to find before he ever wants to finds himself on the receiving end of a furious Cra's arrows thank you very much.

"Oh Enutrof, are you still sore about that?" he grouches when he finally shakes himself out of the stupor.

"Yes," Amalia seethes, "Sore and cold because it rained. _Poured down_. All the way through my flower bed. My hair, Ruel. It was _ruined_."

Ruel can see he's _this close_ to getting up and personal with her brambles and decides that certain investments for the safety of his future are prudent.

Skinflint that he is, he ends up buying her the cheapest comb he can possibly find, grumbling all the way that she should rather wish for clothes that aren't so outrageously skimpy. By Enutrof's mighty wallet, if she actually _were_ his niece he'd _never_ let her go out in public dressed like some two-kama—

Amalia simply smiles sweetly at his tirade and he's beyond surprised to find that it's hardly forced at all. When she skips off to — under protest — braid Eva's hair Ruel sighs and has to remind himself that yes, the Sadida Princess is _somewhat_ likeable when she isn't being so shrill.


	4. Die Happily Ever After

**Title:** Die Happily Ever After

**Characters:** Amalia, Tristepin, Rubilax.

**Pairings**: Mentions of TristEva.

**Notes:** Enough of all that cutesy crap. Dark future. Implied character death/disappearance/suicide. Iop sadness. Amalia being mature. In a word: BAWWW.

* * *

"My Queen, he has arrived."

And that's all she needs to know. She strides out of the throne room with all the self-entitlement she can muster as a Sadida Royal, her large lilypad skirt discreetly shading the slight shake in her step.

She doesn't ponder where he could be. There is only one place in the Sadida Kingdom he'd ever go of his own volition.

The trees have grown impossibly large and wide and hardly any natural light shines down into the little clearing anymore. It's instead being lighted by small torches that emanate a subtle, sweet aroma. If it were any other moment in time, she ponders, he'd certainly whine that this flowery scent garbage isn't manly or heroic enough for a memorial site. If it were any other moment in time, she'd certainly indulge him in a lengthy screaming match about his barbaric tendencies and poor taste in decor.

But it isn't, and he isn't and she isn't.

He's got his back to her; the torn cloth cape barely hides the sensible armour Eva eventually forced him into - however much she'd miss the sight of her lover's bare chest; this the Cra had later admitted to her friend in a hushed voice.

She steps into the soft torch light and suddenly feels out of place. Like the forest she's lived her entire life to protect and which lives to protect her in turn is suddenly some strange dungeon where she can't trust her senses, traps and pitfalls everywhere: mind your step.

"Princess," he says.

"Knight of the Shushu Order," she replies and feels a twinge of old habits resurfacing when she almost barks at him that it's _Queen_ now, thank you for your due respect. Sadida forgive her but that would have been a gross disregard of all of Eva's hard work.

She chokes back the sadness of memories suddenly rushing her mind, compulsively straightens the dark green bulrush in her ornate hair arrangement, and musters up courage that, were it any other moment in time, she'd never have to collect in order to approach Sir Tristepin of Percidal.

If it were any other moment in time, Yugo would quickly deflate this situation or Ruel would inadvertently shift the tension to himself. But it isn't and they aren't.

Coming up to stand beside him, closer to the memorials of the dead and the missing that she's been in ages. She wishes she could have been surprised by Rubilax's complete silence or lack of insolence, wishes that she could have been gobsmacked by the slightly off look in the Shushu's lone eye. It's entirely _too much_ and she wishes someone would make fun of the rush in her hair; tell her it makes her look like a peacock with a fungus infection.

If the look on Rubilax is _off_ then the Knight before her looks decidedly _haunted_; there is none of that gleefully, slightly crazy lust for life she remembers used to get her brambles in a bunch something fierce. He used to look like every day brought new adventures: new creatures to meet and hopefully punch in the face - but now he simply looks _tired_ in a way Iops or warriors or, or, _Pinpin_ aren't _ever supposed to._

Amalia is the Queen of the Sadida Kingdom which stretches far and wide. Armies are at her disposal. She commands the trees and roots of the very earth they stand on.

She can't make this be any other moment in time. It isn't in her power.

She takes his hand, calloused and rough, and tugs him out of the clearing.

What she can do, as Queen of the Sadida, is grant him a quest worthy of Sir Tristepin of Percidal, Shushu Knight, so that he might finally enter the legend for good, and she might eventually, slowly, move away from this terrible moment in time.


	5. Couple Life

**Title:** Couple Life

**Characters:** Tristepin, Rubilax, Count Vampyro/Wagnar, Ombrage, Grufon, Yugo.

**Notes:** "It's like… you're asking me to marry you." – Grufon. Shushu/Guardian dynamics.

* * *

**Abusive**

"It was _you_ who freed me."

He likes to remind the Iop of this, voice gruff, slightly self-satisfied; likes to remind the moron of his impressive list of missteps and errors. Nobody knows them better than Rubilax.

He likes to see his, urgh, _Guardian_, slightly twitch like he's been scalded before exploding into profanities and rampant sword-abuse, hiding what Rubilax can see all too well. It makes the Shushu's punishment at the hands of the joke of a Knight bearable because he knows the Iop is hurting worse that he is.

In Rubilax's opinion it's sheer insanity to lock up sensible demons like himself yet allow inane morons like the Iop to run amuck.

No amount of Goultard's cursed training could ever have prepared this dumb dope for the grim Real World and this comes hilariously true in only a matter of days of the Iop travelling on his lonesome. The Iop constantly trips over his own feet in the race to the glory, the valour, the praise he believe to be just over the next hilltop. Failure upon failure - all with the common denominator of the Knight "Sir Percidal" being an utter and complete waste of space, Rubilax notes with a schadenfreude he makes no attempt to hide.

It works to Rubilax's entertainment, at least. Since the moron is so starved for acknowledgement it only takes a pretend kind word to see the boy light up like a bonfire - and then the Shushu shatters this pathetic display of hope with a harsh retort and barking laughter. Hope is wasted on the hopeless, he tells the Guardian.

And every time, something breaks, slowly, bit by bit, inside the would-be Knight.

It happens again and again - the Iop never seems to catch on. He always comes back for more, it seems, out of some idealistic notion that one day he is going to attain the respect and reputation he is capable of.

However, Rubilax can feel the Iop's hopeful resolve slowly creak and break under the strain of his own staggering incompetence, generously egging him on, pushing him over the edge and it can't be long now. Rubilax counts the days, smiling inside, until he'll be able to overpower the, granted, unusually strong-willed optimism of the fool. But it can't be long now.

Unless something drastic happens, and he doesn't foresee that happening soon, this... _feh_, "partnership" will soon be a lot less aggravating.

o o o o

**Abandonment**

"Wagnar..."

Her voice is inviting, soothing and only tinged with the slightest hint of demand. This voice has summoned hundreds of Shushus to her beck and call, and thousands more of the pathetic cattle known as 'humans'. She does not mind that her prison is not a weapon - not a noise-making instrument of mass destruction or some phallic sword that (in her humble opinion) does rather invite some doubt as to the wielder's perceived masculinity.

Her strength lies within her voice, her ability to issue orders and be instantly obeyed: to exercise her complete control through her confidence, her manipulative personality or simply through her innate demonic skills.

The Shushu that can make her Guardian fall in love with what he should protect the world against is a crafty one indeed. She is pleased with her control over him. Pleased with the fact she need not flex her muscles or resort to crude threats in order to completely control her Guardian.

This is something Rubilax the 'Mighty' never seems to understand: the fact that brawn doesn't quite cut it in the major Shushu leagues. What you need is _ruthlessness_, the attitude that everybody better cater to you or else. Let the minor Shushu roll around in the dirt, tussling and pulling hair - the _rest_ of us with _some_ dignity will be getting things done, thank _you_.

Secretly, she is delighted with her appointed Guardian. A highbred, bearing himself with the entitlement nobility brings - the knowledge that he is the Lord and his people are just that: _his. _

And he is _hers_, hers to manipulate, hers to _leave_ and _enslave_ as she sees fit, because at the end of the day, she'll still end up on his finger and she doesn't mind that so terribly.

Even if he wavers slightly, her control is _still_ absolute.

No matter her lies or trickery they belong together, he knows this, knows that he can't ever abandon her, because he is _hers_ and hell hath no fury—she knows this, she has _been there_ and he _would not dare—_

"_Wagnar_...?"

He _dares_.

o o o o

**Adultery**

"_Yugo_ is my Guardian!"

There is s certain madness in this, Grufon admits: a Shushu actively pursuing a Guardian. Some sort of mental defect, certainly - yet there is no denying that a certain... _pride_ is attached to the Shushu who has a Guardian to antagonize and be antagonized by. It means you're a threat, it means you're useful. You're _Somebody_.

Grufon dearly wishes to be Somebody.

With a Guardian, you're a Somebody for an awful long amount of time - what with it being a partnership _not to be taken lightly_.

This they honestly don't seem to get.

They honestly don't get why Grufon gripes and moans at them – hey, he should be happy, right? They hardly threaten to roll him up like some glorified demonic cig anymore. So why is he still complaining? Unless it's some innate Shushu trait to flaunt their mouth _constantly_.

Well, sirs and madams, the problem isn't that he's _being_ threatened, now is it? It's that _everyone _does it. It's that he's _Yugo's_ Shushu and as Guardian it should be Yugo _and Yugo alone_ who does the blackmail and the insults and the intimidation - instead they're passing him around like some, some _napkin_ and by Rushu's bristled beard he just won't _stand for it._

Nope, Yugo can flash that boyishly winning smile as much as he wants, Grufon will simply scoff. _Scoff_. With _vigour_. Until he acts like a _proper_ Guardian, Grufon isn't going to feel very inclined to share his talents without first putting up a Shushu-hell of a fight.


	6. Price of Knowledge

**Title: **Price of Knowledge

**Characters/Pairings: **TristEva, Ruel, Amalia.

**Notes: **A "cabbages and babies" prompt from **Spearance**, the shameless little thing.

* * *

Just because they're in love doesn't mean she's not going to go around correcting the Iop. Certain... measures have to be taken, Evangelyne tells herself. But... for once, she's _not_ going to do it. Directly, anyway.

"Ruel," she says and her voice must have inadvertently taken on the sombre tone of a court member delivering the death sentence because the moment he turns around to face her, the old man pales significantly.

"I need you to do something for me," Evangelyne starts.

"Oh?" he replies with the usual 'oh twelve gods why can't these kids just leave me the heck _alone_?' expression coupled with a growing suspicion that he's going to like this proposition considerably _less_ than usual. If that's even possible.

It is. Oh, it _so_ is.

"No," he blurts out, aghast. "It was a joke. I didn't—he can't be that clueless—"

As one, they turn to look at Tristepin who's managed to annoy some giant forest creature into marauding _again_ and Amalia is following him on her vines, screaming that he better not disturb the gentle balance of nature or by Sadida's invasive thorns, she'll disturb _him_. Tristepin yells right back that he's only playing and she needs to stop being such a girly girl. And to also watch out for those rose bushes.

"I'm not doing it," Eva says firmly, heat rising to her cheeks: this is only steeling her resolve. "But somebody has to. That's you."

Ruel isn't all that sympathetic: "_There aren't enough kamas in the world_," the elderly Enutrof hisses with all the conviction utter horror gives him.

o o o o

After a spectacular show of sheer stubbornness only really _old_ people can muster, it shows, astonishingly, that there really _aren't._

There is, however, always bluffing and bogus accusations of theft - which shows to _actually_ be true, after all, as Evangelyne disapprovingly receives a few, ahem, _souvenirs_ from the Royal coffers before she points him ahead to his doom. He skulks off with the air of a dead man walking.

So Ruel pulls a curious-looking Pinpin aside and, hopefully, tells him certain things pertaining to cabbages and birds and bees and other appropriate metaphors to do with the local wildlife.

Yes, Pinpin is right: Just because they're in love doesn't mean Eva can correct him all the time.

Sometimes she'll get other people to do it instead.


	7. Knowing Is Half The Battle

**Title**: Knowing is Half the Battle

**Characters**: Tristepin, Ruel.

**Notes**: For **beautybelle300256**, because she amused herself with the idea of a sequel to **'Price of Knowledge'** in a review. These two are probably my favourite characters and I love heckling them.

* * *

Tristepin is used to the fact that everybody seems to know more about what's going on than he does.

They probably do. He's sort of okay with that.

Master Goultard helped him come to terms with the fact that a Iop's role isn't to plan out elabo-ellu—fancy battle plans or use five syllabuh-syllu-long words. They do what they do best, which just happens to punching a lot, or in his case, punching a lot and dying and coming back to life (Tristepin wonders, looking at the newly-back-to-life Grougal setting fire to the fire-prone grass-people of the Sadida Kingdom, if this is going to be some sort of new trend.)

What he is _not_ okay with is this weird look Ruel is giving him - as if Ruel is a prisoner of war and Tristepin is the chopping block where the old fart is finally going to meet up with the God Enutrof. Or, in the words of a skinflint: Ruel's the kama and Tristepin's the unpaid tab at Alibert's inn.

Oh Iop, he could really go for some of that special stew right now. With extra meat and a creamy, spicy broth... yesss...

"Pinpin, stop drooling for a second and sit down. We're going to have A Talk."

"Eh? I wasn't—er, a talk?"

"No: A Talk," Ruel repeats and this time Tristepin notices the Big Letters. Uh oh. Those are never good.

The old man steeples his fingers and sends an eerily serious look his way.

Tristepin doesn't know more than he has to because all he _needs_ to know is how to put an enemy in a headlock and boast about it afterwards. And he's okay with that.

o o o o

"—and for women there is the Time of the Month, or in Evangelyne's case, All the Time—"

This Talk... is pretty much Not Okay.

It's the _picture_ of Not Okay. In fact, it couldn't be farther away from the Land of Okay even if it climbed aboard that ship that Quilby bloke mentioned and shot off into the stars, weird flowery analogies and all.

Ruel has made it so far as to mention something about hair growth in new and disturbing places when the Iop smacks both hands against his ears and his voice takes on a rather unmanly pitch: "I don't want to _know_ this!"

"Well, I don't want to _tell_ you this, so we have that much in common. But does Miss Cra care about this? Oh nooo—"

"_Eva_ put you up to this?"

"Hrm," Ruel nods.

Both men swap a sour look, resigned to their fates. Pinpin because he knows Eva will have his hide if he avoids this and Ruel since, if doesn't, he'll probably end up in the Royal Dungeons. Again.

"So…" Tristepin twiddles his thumbs, trying to push away the very non-Iop urges to flee for his life or throw himself into the ocean and swim into in the opposite direction of Ruel until he goes numb. "… hair growth, eh?"

"Eh," Ruel grunts.

"Will I get big, bushy eyebrows like yours?" Tristepin asks, eyeing the Enutrof mockingly.

Ruel _glares_. "… how about I tell you about what happens to mouthy snots who don't wait until marriage to do This And That?"

And since, as Ruel says, he doesn't want even more mouthy snots around who will badger him for favours and kamas, Tristepin gets the 'How Mouthy Snots Are Made-Talk: The Full and Gross Explanation (Without Flowery Analogies)'.

Tristepin is a Iop. He's mostly okay with people knowing more than he does. He's also fearless and brave but that only goes for monsters and villains and certainly not details about morning sickness and nappy-changing.

Maybe he should just get up and throw himself off a cliff, end it all before Ruel ends this current rant about— oh god—_things..._ _rotting off_ if one doesn't 'tie the knot'.

Oh yeah. Suicide. That's the ticket.

Then Tristepin sighs in despair: knowing Eva, she'd just bring him back to life and make him sit through this entire Talk again.

The young hero buries his head in his hands, accepting defeat.


	8. Ménage à Rubi

**Title:** Ménage à Rubi

**Characters/pairings**: TristEva, Rubilax, Ruel.

**Notes:** Sort-of-maybe an aftermath to the previous two vignettes. Tristepin can't just abandon his Knightly duty. Eva isn't sympathetic . IMPLIED SNOGGING OH MY.

* * *

Evangelyne is giving him The Look.

The Look means that anything coming out of Tristepin's gob that isn't "Yes Eva, my beautiful Cra, you are as right as you are elegant and skilled, please have mercy on this foolish Iop-Brain, for he doesn't know what he's doing in the least," is going to end very, very badly, and surely also loudly.

Ah, she's so stunning when she's about to kick butt. His, or anybody's else's.

"Tristepin! Can't you just focus for _two_ seconds—?"

Oh. He said that out loud. His mouth does have that habit of saying stuff before his head can catch up with him. He puts that down to 'super Iop speed' but has a sneaking suspicion Eva isn't going to give that notion much thought at the moment.

o o o o

It was only some fifteen minutes ago when the Iop is so stupidly, idiotically gleeful he could start skipping and throw flowers at the world at any moment - if only that isn't the most un-manly thing Tristepin can possibly imagine (bar hanging out with Amalia's giggly manservants who honestly freak the ginger out of him).

He's sitting on Eva's bed. He, Tristepin. Is sitting. On Eva's, the beautiful Cra's, bed. _Bed_. _Sitting. Eva._ There are _several_ reasons why he should be flustered, stammering, blushing, and all those are _awesome_ reasons.

Amazingly, he isn't doing any of the above because his beautiful Eva is smiling at him shyly... then bravely putting a hand on his thigh and leaning in close - and every fibre of his body screams at his mouth that _if he mucks this up in any way _he might as well go outside and ask Ruel to take out his shovel and dig him a shallow grave because there is _no way_ in Rushu's hell he will _ever_ live it down if he says—

"Oi, you snogging saps, _get a room_! One that _I'm not in_, preferably!"

Amazingly, this time, it isn't Tristepin's mouth that ruins things.

It's Rubilax.

What are friends for?

o o o o

"He needs to _go_, Pinpin!"

"But, Eva, my Knightly duty..."

"Urgh, I _do not_ want to be present when you perform your nightly duty. There is hell and then there's _this!_"

So here they are: Eva is deeply embarrassed and angry. Rubilax is deeply disgusted and angry. Neither can understand why the Shushu _has_ to play the part of the unwilling voyeur... and honestly? Tristepin is starting to wonder why he's even arguing this – defending, what, _Rubilax?_ In favour of having Eva sit in his lap and teaching him to put his big mouth to good use, for once?

_Uh, yeah_, his brain finally joins the party. _Why are you arguing this again?_

All the while Eva is losing patience by the second and Rubilax is noisily protesting the use of 'cruel and unusual punishment'.

"I can't abandon Rubi," Tristepin tries desperately, and the other two scoff in perfectly annoyed harmony. "What if someone comes by and steals him? Or he possesses some guard? You know what duty is like. Evaaa..." he pleads, adding a mighty pout.

"You also have a duty to me, Pinpin," Evangelyne points out timidly. Tristepin can see that she's really not comfortable with admitting this and his boyfriend instincts urge him to rush forward and console before-

"_Heavy_ duty," Rubilax sneers, and things sort of goes downhill after that.

o o o o

It's the middle of the night and Tristepin is in one of the Sadida guest rooms listening to Ruel snore and drool into the pillow about 'my pretty kamas', and free meal coupons, and some, er, _stuff_ about an Eniripsa and her 'intimate healing techniques' which Tristepin tries really, really hard not to hear.

Yup. Here he is, doing his Shushu Knight Creed honour, protecting the world against demons before all else, come hell or high water or, or... blushing, willing Cras.

No sir, he's doing the admirable thing.

On the couch.

With Rubilax.

...

Iop have mercy on his dumb, dutiful ass.

* * *

**A/N:** I want to put in a formal apology for the knightly/nightly pun. I just... yeah.


	9. Invested In You

**Title**: Invested In You

**Characters/Pairings: **TristEva

**Notes**: Things are a little different today, chaps. **zabchan** decided to surprise me with a **sequel** to **Ménage à Rubi **! What a bro she is! So, yes, this **was not** **written by me**, but by **zabchan** (she's on ffnet too and has an ever-burning love for Pinpin and Eva, look her up) but I'm uploading it here with her blessing, of course - mostly because ffnet is such a fussy bitch about posting links.

Also, zab, you gave me no title, so allow me to stick one on in your place (email me if it's absolutely horrendous to you ;P)

* * *

After three days of careful tiptoeing and wall edging, Tristepin was beginning to wish he'd trained with Srams, so he could turn invisible any time he saw Evangelyne turn a corner. He knew he'd Done Screwed Up, as Goultard used to say, and the worst part about it was this time he was keenly aware of why. Most of his screw-ups were simple mistakes or memory failures or coordination issues, but this time he could actually name what had gone wrong. Unfortunately, this didn't at all help _solve_the problem.

He dashed across an open courtyard, his last obstacle to the guest room he was sharing with Ruel. He darted inside the door and upon closing the oak door leaned against it, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Sighing, he slumped forward. A sudden wave of depression weighed down his limbs as he stumbled forward. The room was empty, thank Iop. Tristepin fell heavily onto the moss bed, limbs splayed, hands and feet hanging over the sides. He groaned at his own misfortune, and reached above his head to pull a pillow toward him. His hand hit something hard and decidedly unpillowlike.

Puzzled, he raised his head. Moving aside the pillow, he saw a plain wooden box with a green bow wrapped around a corner. Tearing the bow away greedily, he slid the lid open and pulled out something made of dark red leather and suede. Shaking it out, a tiny piece of leaf-green paper fluttered into his lap.

"Pinpin," he read aloud, squinting at the tightly controlled cursive letters. "I got you this because I thought it might be useful to put certain loud objects in that you don't want stolen or lost. And if you really want to keep it safe, the closet in my room has a lock on it." On the back of the paper were printed instructions on magically binding the item to only open when certain code words were spoken by the owner.

Suddenly his eyes went wide and his face broke into a huge, almost evil grin.

o o o o

Eva heard the knock, but before she could even turn around, a tan and ginger whirlwind had caught her up in his arms, giving her a little gleeful spin around her room. Grinning slyly, she accepted his enthusiastic kiss on her cheek and returned his embrace.

"I guess you got the havenbag I sent you."

Beaming, he simply jerked his head sideways, indicating the sack slung against his hip.

"How'd he take it?" she asked, cocking a mischievous eyebrow.

"He's probably still screaming about it." Tristepin started pressing little darting kisses to her jaw line, smiling against her skin. "But hey, I don't hear anything, do you?"

"Nope," Eva replied smugly. She pushed Tristepin gently, turning him around so his back was to her bed. She started to press him backward until his knees hit the edge and forced him to sit down. "After a few times, I'm sure he'll get used to it." Tristepin eyes went wide and his grin went even wider. A moment later, the havensack was hastily kicked under the bed, just out of eyesight but not quite out of arm's length.

"I still can't believe you bought that for me. It must have cost you a lot."

"Don't worry about it," she said, draping herself across his lap and winding her arms around his neck. "Consider it an... investment."


	10. From The Treetops

**Title**: From The Treetops

**Characters**: Adamai, Grougaloragran, Yugo, ensemble cast.

**Notes**: This is Adamai-centric and fought me every step as I wrote it; prolly 'cos Adamai simply is my least favourite character, the whiny little ponce. Warning: There are OUTRAGEOUS amounts of wangst ahead. He's just not a funny guy.

* * *

From the beach, a young Adamai watches the black squid-form of Grougaloragran decimate an unfortunate ship. The hull is reduced to splinters, the sails are carried away on the breeze, and the throughout shaken-but-intact crew scatters on makeshift rafts, drifting away into the blue nothingness.

Hours later, splinters and debris dot the yellow sand of the beach as the white dragonette draws patterns in the sand on his lonesome.

He continues to draw patterns in the sand on his own, for many years.

o o o o

From the cliff's edge, a nervous Adamai peers into the horizon, sea and sky merging, cheating his spatial senses into thinking it's a flat, azure backdrop.

Adamai swallows a lump. He has to master flight and fire before he can be a dragon instead of a dragonette. He has to master shapeshifting and magic before he can dazzle his Eliatrope brother.

The fall is so steep and the beetle-form feels so brittle.

Behind him, the black dragon grunts in reassurance, and Adamai feels a warm feeling swell in his chest.

He will fall many times. Grougal will catch him.

o o o o

From the lush jungle, a delighted Adamai hides from Yugo in a trickster's game of catch-me-if-you-can. He cannot prevent the smile plastering his blue lips from spreading with every excited yell from his sweet-hatted brother.

When they first meet, he revels in the curious look on Yugo's face. He likes playing the mysterious, mischievous mentor. Yugo all too willingly picked up on the game with glee and maybe, if they played long enough, Adamai could trick even himself into being and not pretending.

The Eliatrope laughs as he follows Adamai up the mountain without question, and the dragonette feels something inside fall into place.

If Yugo falls, Adamai will catch him.

Later, Grougal is about to fall, yet will not allow them to even try catching him.

Adamai's human-esque trickster role doesn't see the light of day again in a long time.

o o o o

From somewhere behind him, a panicking Adamai can slowly make out the blurred groans of the others in the white, howling blizzard. Icy cold slams him square in the face with the impact of a sack filled with jagged rocks. His eyes dart from snowflake to snowflake, erratically whizzing past him.

Special snowflake upon special snowflake. All nothing. All wrong. All white. Falling. No Grougal to catch them.

Adamai falls to his knees and scream out his loneliness and loss.

o o o o

From inside the havresac, Adamai is hardly bothered by Ruel's... unique smell. Yugo, _bless him_, acts every bit the brother Adamai had yearned for, but somehow, it's not enough until he can see Grougal again, whole and puffing sooty smoke everywhere.

Everything Grougal has told and taught him – that he must be strong, must help Yugo find the Eliacube, must teach Yugo about Wakfu and his powers – he knows all this, but always figured Grougal would still... well, _be_ _there_. Because Adamai likes to pretend, _must_ pretend in order not to lose himself to despair, but he isn't even one bit of the mentor or the pillar of stability Grougal has been.

Adamai doesn't like this place. He doesn't like the cold, or the howling wind, or the desolate tundra where he easily disappears amongst the tumbling white.

Only the strenuous hope that he _will_ see Grougal again and the firm belief that he _can't_ act like that in front of his brother - who _needs_ him, who he _needs_ to be needed by – is what keeps Adamai form succumbing to outright despair.

o o o o

From the middle of the icy tundra, Adamai loses all touch with the world as the others run around laughing playfully, stuffing snow down Tristepin's neck. The dragonchild stops, paralyzed, and can only hear the complete, roaring vacuum of Grougal's sudden and complete absence.

For several, agonizingly long seconds, Adamai feels nothing. Then... he feels _everything_; so _much_ feeling that it threatens to tear him apart, steal away his self-control and leave him a gibbering wreck, his last piece of hope completely destroyed—images of splinters on the golden beach assault him mercilessly and Adamai has to mentally slap himself back to reality.

Yugo's hand on his shoulder. The others – Ruel, Amalia, Evangelyne and Tristepin - circle them, all with worried expressions, and despite their closeness, Adamai has never felt so small, and so insignificant and so utterly _alone_.

A blue feather summons the ghostly visage of Grougaloragran. Promises, decisions, plans, responsibility that's too sudden, too heavy... this is not the way he wanted to say goodbye. It's not.

However... Yugo stands beside him... he is not alone in this. He _is not_. The dofus. They'll find it. Together. He is not alone.

o o o o

From the treetops, a sulking Adamai watches the quiet Sadida forest on his lonesome. Yes, Az, is there too - but Az is, right now, quite preoccupied with doing Tofu-related things instead of having a proper sulk with Adamai and is all in all a poor substitute for Yugo.

Who left. They all left him behind. To search for Tristepin, he deduces. Bring him back to life, somehow.

Tristepin, and not Grougal.

A spike of... _something_, directed at Yugo flares in the dragonchild. He feels somewhat ashamed of this yet... he doesn't try to quell it. Yugo knows that Adamai misses Grougal _dearly_ and yet...

Every time Yugo jumps to hug Alibert... every time he has argued with Adamai about using the Eliacube... Adamai's thoughts would instantly wander to Grougaloragran _right there_ in the dofus. Adamai can _see_ him, _feel_ his Wakfu and yet... _too soon_, Yugo says_, too soon_. Well, for Adamai it will always be _too late, too late_.

He doesn't want to put words on this, although the feeling of abandonment is very much present and identifiable, but that's only a part of this... _something_.

Something all too familiar.


	11. Fishing For Compliments

**Title: **Fishing For Compliments

**Characters: **Yugo, Amalia, ensemble cast.

**Pairing: **One-sided on Amalia's part.

**Notes: **There are outrageous amounts of TristEva in this compilation. I don't even ship Yugo/Amalia (I see them as friends, nothing more), however, I just had to write something _else_ lest I choke on my own shippiness.

* * *

It's one of those Nice Days.

One of those days when everybody seems to be completely in agreement that nothing can make this _not_ be a Nice Day and lets all just Get Along.

The sun is shining, the wind is steady, and the waves are slowly rolling the ship along its course. Tristepin seems to be, well, still seasick as a dog, but less so. Ruel is grumbling good-naturedly in the galley, trying to put together lunch. Evangelyne is looking over things from the bow and chatting to Grufon, who is even putting on an admirable effort to be likeable for once.

Even Amalia is doing a good job of not meeting her usual quota of incessant complaints. On the stern side of things, she and Yugo have taken up their usual fishing competition, making themselves useful while not boring themselves to death and beyond or risk being roped into doing Ruel's chores, the sneaky jerk.

Yugo hauls in a large one and grins, proudly admiring the slick scales of the fish before he drops it into the bucket. "Tonight's gonna be a feast!" he exclaims and smacks his lips.

Amalia sighs. "All this seafood... really makes me miss the food back home," she admits wistfully.

"I'm looking forward to see the Sadida food," Yugo grins with a cook's enthusiasm.

"It's not that exciting," Amalia admits, loathe to deride the magnificence that is her own kingdom. "There's only so much you can do with grass, honestly. I guess a week of nothing but Eva's squid rings can make you miss almost anything."

A pause.

"You... really don't want to go home, do you, Amalia?" Yugo asks. The concept seems so alien and bizarre to him that he's not entirely sure he understands it correctly. To him, Home has always been a safe haven, but Amalia seems to treat the idea as something ranging from constrictingly loathsome to vaguely annoying.

She makes a sound that might have been a sigh or might have been a snort of frustration. Probably something in-between.

Cheering up must commence, Yugo decides, and turns around, placing a hand on her shoulder: "Come on, Ami, it can't be _that_ bad. I mean, _you_ come from there, right?"

There is a quiet moment where the Sadida appears to be staring intently at nothing. One might suspect she is fighting an improbably cheesy grin but then she turns around, suddenly, and says:

"You know Yugo... your hat is really cool," she declares with the Fashionista Expert's Nod of Approval.

"Uhh, thanks, Amalia," Yugo grins, wondering where that came from.

She looks at him expectantly.

Yugo replays the last minutes of conversation in his mind, coming up blank as to whatever it is she's wanting now.

He decides to draw a wild card and hope for the best: "... I, err, like your... flower?" he finishes lamely, gesturing vaguely to where the flower would be on his own head – that is, if he suddenly feels like he should need a touch of something Spring Clean.

Amalia lights up like a tiny, green sun. The complimented white flower on the side of her head grows a smidgen larger, a bit more lively and fresh-looking, and suddenly the air around them actually _does_ smell a bit Spring Clean-ish.

"_Thank you_, Yugo!" The Sadida Princess positively _beams -_ then turns and throws out her lure again with renewed heartiness and the beginning of a hum on her tan lips.

Yugo turns as well, utterly perplexed. He has no idea what just happened.

Eh, what the hey. It's a Nice Day. Better not spoil it by asking questions - even if Amalia insists on being _super_ weird.


	12. Smells Like Iop Spirit

**Title: **Smells Like Iop Spirit

**Characters: **Tristepin, Rubilax.

**Pairing: **That would be hilariously weird.

**Notes: **Takes place directly after episode 22 of season 1. Another infinitely lame pun title. I need an intervention.

* * *

The Iop is smug.

The Iop is _insufferably_ smug.

The red-headed warrior types are a great deal many words - most of them synonyms for 'retarded' and 'annoying as hell' – but 'smug' should certainly not be one of those. It is against the natural Law of all that makes sense.

Granted, Rubilax loves nothing more than to give The Law a great, stony finger, but some things are simply Plain Wrong and should be left alone.

There is a reason Iops should not be smug – for one, it makes them hideously irritating.

You let some amateur Guardian beat you and suddenly he's prancing and _whistling _some big-shot, on-top-of-the-world Goultard-wannabe. For _two hours_ straight. _Why won't he stop whistling._

_Should have sat on him when I had the chance_, Rubilax grouses.

Those few, sparse hours of freedom Rubilax enjoys once in a blue moon makes the claustrophobic imprisonment all the worse by comparison – especially in times like these when he'd love nothing more than to reach out, strip the Iop of his oesophagus and crumble it between his fingers like some particularly pesky beetle.

"Stop. _Whistling_."

"What? I'm in a good mood. When you're in a good mood, you whistle!"

"It sounds like somebody is flailing a tone-deaf bowmeow around by its tail."

"You're just jealous because you can't whistle."

"..."

"Well? It's true."

"..._ I have no lips, you moron._"

"Don't be a hater, Rubi," Tristepin admonishes, still sounding much too up-beat to Rubi's tastes. To be fair, though, anything short of heart-wrenchingly depressed is 'too upbeat'.

"I have plenty of hate to go around, being bound to a smelly, washed-up warrior. Ye _gods_. All _twelve_ of 'em."

The Iop frowns. "I'm not smelly."

"Try hanging around where I do all day. It's kind of hard to miss. I certainly _wish_ it was," the demon gripes.

"You're a _sword_. How can you—how does that even _make sense?_" Tristepin asks in a rare moment of brain activity.

"Well, you can take my word for it—" At this, Tristepin lets out a huff of 'yeah, right', "—or you can wait for your little Cra to tell you yourself at arm's length. Actually yes, do that. It'll be delightfully embarrassing and I'll never have to hear her know-it-all voice again," Rubi says and you can practically hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

Tristepin stops dead in his tracks, the entire would-be scenario playing out in his vivid imagination. It involves social ostracising, never-live-it-down mortification, and - for some reason - pink, bubbly, rose-scented soap.

The dreadful mental image, pink bubbles and all, is more than enough to send him running at neck-breaking speed toward the first sign of beautiful, cleansing, anti-smelly water - all the while Rubilax laughs uproariously.

The balance is, once again, restored.


	13. Bedroom Blunders

**Title**: Bedroom Blunders

**Characters/Pairings**: TristEva

**Warnings**: Of the implied sexy kind.

**Notes**: Will I ever get tired of bullying Pinpin? …signs point to 'hell freaking no'.

On another note, I'm about to start focusing more on one-shots and longer stories. This collection was a good way to get into the swing of Wakfu fics but I feel somewhat ready to try and write something a li'l more… substantial now. I'll still update this should the occasional burst of short inspiration hit—it's good practice, which I won't pretend I don't need.

* * *

Eva holds her breath and can barely meet Pinpin's shocked face above her.

They stay like this—suspended in an awkward missionary pose for what feels like an unnaturally stretch of time, both too afraid to even exhale should this tiny movement break the brittle spell that utter horror has put them in.

Evangelyne blinks and that breaks the temporary paralysis. Tristepin looks anywhere but at the blushing Cra underneath him—who, in stark contrast to a few minutes ago, was his entire world.

_Should have known,_ some snide little voice at the back of her head snipes. _That all the posture and puffing out his chest only to fail comically would spill over to the bedroom as well._

Eva patiently and deliberately chains up that particularly spiteful part of her brain, boxes it up and calmly pushes it off the steepest mental cliff because that is _quite enough of that thank you_ and they will _work through this_, even if she has never felt _less_ attractive in her _whole life; _even (especially) counting that one time she ended up absolutely _drenched_ in dragoturkey slobber in front of the entire Sadida Royal Court. Fun times. Compared to _this _excercise in mortification, anyway.

She cups his cheek and gently brings him to look her in the eyes. What she sees has her catching her breath in her throat.

Tristepin looks utterly _destroyed_. His face is the absolute portrait of atrophy, the poster boy for self-harm, completely ready for a dishonourable discharge from _Life_ by way of swallowing his own tongue on the spot. In that instant, her Iop looks more vulnerable and self-loathing than she's ever feared possible and her heart break just a tiny bit because of all the things they've been through together—_this_ is what shatters him and isn't that terribly, horrendously tragicomic?

"Shh, Pinpin, it doesn't matter," Evangelyne coos with all the warmth and tenderness she can possibly put into those words—and because he _needs_ to hear it: "I still love you. I love you _so much_."

He collapses into her arms with a squeak and a terrified sigh and she gathers him up and holds him.

_Frail male pride_, she muses wryly and he rattles off a litany of apologies, 'please forgive me's' and 'feel free to kill me at your will'—and in that moment she has never felt closer to bursting with raw, bubbling affection for her blundering Iop.

Eva knows what to do to get things back to normal, to break through the embarrassment and humiliation. She gathers her wits, strokes his hair and goes for it:

"I guess Nice Guys don't always _'finish last'_, hmm?"

"E-eva! …you're _evil_," he half shakily whines, mostly sighs in relief and relaxes in her soft, forgiving arms.

* * *

**A/N**: And this is the story explaining why Sniggy doesn't write smut. The end!


End file.
